From The Ruts Of A Wagon Train Long Past.

From The Ruts Of A Wagon Train Long Past.

I took quarters
in a bunk bed,
two stories slept
there comfortably,
sisterly love
ensconced above
and down below...
just me,
back when we were
both wee.

Sweet dreams were
wrought there nightly,
under a huge
Roy Rogers spread,
when cowboy
gear was king,
and up above you'd
find the head
of my Sister draped
in Barbie pink,
a current young
girl thing.

How often
Sunday afternoons,
we'd wile away the day,
changing bunks
to covered wagons,
where as western folk
we'd play,
Our horse was
but a rocker,
two sheets
our covered hoop,
as we traveled
on vast prairies,
down their grassy slopes
we'd swoop.

It was a very
special place
where often
we would
both explore,
a world beyond
the projects,
in a time when
we were poor.

We traveled on
as age crept in,
and set our feet
to wander,
that bunk bed's
in a landfill now,
but still moves
me to ponder.

How rapidly
life slips away,
beneath the
wheels of time,
and working days
replace the play,
back in that
simpler time.

Cowboys have faded
like the sheets,
that once made
westerns real,
though Barbie dolls
still grace the malls,
and offer vast appeal.

But we've both lost
our childhood days,
somewhere near
Donner's pass,
since age consumed
the flesh of youth,
we face a huge impasse.

Where we can
never go back home,
and loathe
our moving on,
towards what lies
over yonder ridge,
where other souls
have gone.

©-MFB III

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WannaB Writer profile image

WannaB Writer 5 years ago from Templeton, CA

How true. Except for me, moving toward "yonder ridge" is going back to my true home.

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